The Devil's Mistress by David Barclay (reading well .txt) 📕

Nothing.

The blackness had consumed him as soon as the rope snapped. He had no memory of arriving in this place. No memory of what happened to Elly after she fell into the river. He feared the worst but for the life of him couldn’t remember.

The one thing he did know was that he was a fool. Consumed by his own ideals. Strangled by his own self-righteousness. Because of that, he was now a prisoner in some strange place, and the only woman he had ever cared for may very well be gone forever. And if she wasn’t, what could he ever tell her to right the wrongs he had done?

He opened his mouth to speak and discovered nothing would come. He was a mute fool, a man who had been afraid to admit the workings of his own heart. He could not bring himself to speak plainly even now.

It was in the midst of this non-speech that the door to the room opened, and in strode the absentee town physician, Daniel Moberrey. Taking in the state of the man and the state of the room, Jacob came to a sudden realization: he was in Moberrey’s house.

The physician himself was a stout, bespectacled gentleman of middle years, unremarkable save for his dress, which, given the time and circumstance, was exceedingly odd. He wore an extravagant purple suit with lace trim and a double-knotted cravat. Jacob’s best guess was that it must have been intended for a costume ball of some sort or another—though the ends of the cloth were frayed, and the lavender waist coat was missing several buttons. The boy thought the doctor must be mad until he caught wind of the man’s breath, which reeked of a fermented beverage that had been rotting for so long, it had fermented again.

“How feels yourself?” Moberrey began. “Er, pardon. How do you feel?”

Jacob looked at the sleeping magistrate, then back to the physician. “Awake.”

“So you are. Best lay back. Bed comfortable? Of course it is. Only have the two. Small place, you see. Not that anyone pays a good wage,” he mumbled. “Know you I am but the one doctor within a hundred miles of this place? Think they’d pay better than peas.” He stopped, frowned, then tried again. “Pea-toons. Pay…more than a pittance,” he finished.

“Sir, thank you for your attentions, but I need to leave this place at once.” Jacob made to stand, but the doctor pushed him back.

“Can’t have you moving. Head’s all a-fluffle.”

“Please.” Jacob tried again and found he had almost no leverage on one leg.

“Council wants you here, young man. Until your trial.”

“Trial?” A lump rose in his throat. “What has happened? Where is Isabella?”

“Isa… What?” Moberrey looked confused. Then his head seemed to clear. “The girl! Gone. Taken by the river. Drowned, most like.”

Jacob’s head sank. “Where is her body?”

“Body? Er…no body. Nobody has…the body,” he finished. “It’s gone. Now lay back as I told you.”

In spite of the absurd circumstance, Jacob felt himself growing angry. He had to find her. He had to get to the river. “You cannot keep me here, sir.”

“I cannot, but there’s a watchman. Outside the door.” He gestured vaguely at the ceiling.

Jacob looked past him. The front of the house was a singular, open room, with only one way out.

There came a knock at the front door.

“Probably the man now,” Moberrey said. “Enter!”

The door creaked open, but the figure on the other side was both the wrong sex and the wrong color to be one of Sloop’s men.

Moberrey frowned.

“Delia?” Jacob said.

The old woman pushed inside, though not with the same frail movement he would have expected. She held the stable hand’s flintlock in front of her, and while the great iron beast trembled slightly in her bony hands, there was no doubt she had a mind to use it.

The physician gaped. “What is the meaning of this?”

Delia took a moment to steady herself. “I have no quarrel with you, Doctor Moberrey, but you best let this young man through. If you don’t, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

Jacob, who had experienced nothing but misery since the day of Isabella’s arrest, felt a sudden and unexpected surge of hope. “What are you doing, Delia?”

The old woman started to speak, but her voice faltered. Jacob realized she was scared to death. Free woman or no, she had resigned herself to execution the moment she’d walked through the door.

“I’m doing the only thing I can,” she said finally. “My only friend is at the bottom of the river, and now they’re going to do the same thing to you, Mister Jacob.”

“This is insane,” Moberrey complained. “Where is Wembly?” When Delia didn’t respond, he clarified. “The man outside.”

“Wasn’t nobody outside, Doctor Moberrey. Whole town is going to the Devil.”

A gust of wind blew into the room, and with it, a chorus of voices. The sounds of laughter and terror mixed together in a queer and unnatural melody. For several long seconds, the trio stood frozen. Then, just as suddenly, the wind died.

“We need to leave this place.” Jacob was about to stand when he realized he was still naked beneath the blanket. He turned to Moberrey. “Fetch my clothes.”

The man stood rooted. His watery blue eyes darted back and forth over the room.

“My clothes,” Jacob repeated. “And my leg. Quickly.”

“Clothes? I burned those.”

“Yours clothes, then.”

Moberrey stumbled to a chest in the front room, withdrew an old, moth-eaten shirt and trousers—mercifully plain, the both of them—then tossed them to Jacob. The physician spun in place, seemed to figure out where he was going, then headed back into the bedroom, where he withdrew an old cloth from beneath the magistrate’s bed. In it was the wooden leg.

Jacob strapped the leg over his stump, then slipped on Moberrey’s shirt and trousers. They were too loose about the skin and too short about the limbs, but they would do.

He looked at Delia. “What’s happening out there?”

Delia crossed herself. “The